


Saturation Point

by missmollyetc



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, a haircut is not just a haircut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturation Point

**Author's Note:**

> Many people are to blame for this story. And [you all](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/friends/) know who you are.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [numb3rs](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/tag/numb3rs)  
---|---  
  
_ **NUMB3RS FIC: Saturation Point (1/1)** _

Title: Saturation Point

Pairing: Don/Charlie

Rating: NC-17

Warning(s): Incest, Spoilers up to the season premiere.

Summary: Some days, a haircut is not just a haircut.

Author's Notes: Many people are to blame for this story. And [you all](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/friends/) know who you are.

Author's Notes (2): Thank you to [](http://schnaucl.livejournal.com/profile)[**schnaucl**](http://schnaucl.livejournal.com/) and [](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/profile)[**dsudis**](http://dsudis.livejournal.com/) for their cheering, criticism, and general all-around INSANE HOTNESS. (Seriously, DEAN WINCHESTER DREAMS OF THESE WOMEN AND THEN WAKES UP AND CRIES HIMSELF TO SLEEP AGAIN BECAUSE THEY WEREN'T ACTUALLY THERE.)

Disclaimer: I have nothing (apparently, not even my sanity). Numb3rs is the product of CBS and the Scott Brothers, and I make nothing from this while they rake in the millions. Which is how I like it. In other words? I. Made. It. Up.

 

 

The lack of central air really made itself known on days like this. Dad had already cleared out, preferring to swelter on the golf course rather than inside the house, and Charlie, even fresh from the shower, was seriously beginning to calculate where a swamp cooler might have the best effect when he heard the scissors snip and fall silent. Don stepped away behind him and Charlie slumped on top of the kitchen table, swinging his legs and narrowly avoided smacking his heels into wooden struts underneath. He planted his elbows on his knees and rubbed his head with his two hands. His head felt lighter and—thankfully--a bit colder. His hair slithered through his fingers, leaving wet trails down the backs of his hands.

"Thanks," Don said. "Thank you _Don_ for taking your afternoon off and helping me chop through the tangle of weeds choking my head because I won't leave the garage unless--"

Charlie brought his palm down over his mouth to cover his smirk. He shrugged one shoulder and let the tiny shake in Don's voice pinch the back of his mind.

"—enough money to go out and _get_ a haircut--"

Charlie dropped his hand at the same time Don tossed the scissors on the towels they'd spread out to catch the loose hair. The sunlight through the kitchen windows pierced his damp t-shirt, heating the side of his body. He unwrapped the larger towel Don'd placed around his shoulders and let it fall behind him. He twisted his body on the table, putting a knee and hand on the wood for balance.

"Thanks," Charlie said, tucking his chin on his shoulder. "Thank you _Don_ for helping me even the sides of my hair after Larry's--"

Don frowned and pushed a chair into the table. He stood with his back to the windows, outlined in the light.

"Okay," Charlie said. "Still not ready to discuss that."

"_Physics,_" Don muttered.

He brushed his hands off over the towels and came around the end of the table, blocking the sun as he passed by. Charlie shivered and sat up, following Don's path until they faced each other. He smacked Charlie's left knee with three fingers and pinched the fabric of his jeans, tugging the fabric. A distracted frown creased his face, and suddenly Charlie got the impression that Don has stopped seeing him, that he'd lost his brother's focus through some tiny, crucial misstep. He shivered, though the sunlight still clutched at his back.

He swallowed, hard, and bit his lower lip. Charlie leaned back, settling his knees apart. He wanted to reach out and touch the damp fabric at Don's waist, but the angle was off. He put his hands at his own waistband instead, rubbing his fingers along the seam. Drops of water from Charlie's hair slipped down the sides of his face and gathered in the corners of his lips. He opened his mouth and the drops fell inside, sour with oil and a hint of shampoo. Don inched forward, still frowning. His eyes narrowed, gaze shifting upward, sharpening somehow, and Charlie felt the healing burn on his throat prickle as if Don had touched it. He put his hand up quickly, aiming for the side of his neck.

Don grabbed his wrist, close enough that his knuckles brushed the bend of his jaw. Charlie lifted his head up and back, exhaling quickly. He blinked and then they were staring at each other, matching breath for breath. His fingertips twitched. Don tilted his head. His mouth thinned.

"Don't," he said. "I just…want a better look at it."

He rubbed a hand up the back of his head and over the top, barely ruffling what was left of his hair. Don had cut his hair for the summer already, shaving it close to his skull until the gleam was gone. It looked more like a pelt than hair, dense and soft when the stiff little bristles were stroked the right way. Today it'd gone black from sweat, shiny and pointed. Sweat had gathered at his temples, and the dip of his throat at the open vee of Don's dark shirt. He'd stopped wearing color at some point, and Charlie couldn't remember the exact reason for the change.

"Okay," Charlie said.

Don's grip on his wrist shifted, tightening over the pressure point at the base of his palm. Slowly, he pulled Charlie's arm away, holding it upright. He brought his free hand up to curve around Charlie's skull, carefully pushing his head farther away to reveal his neck. The burned skin stretched, protesting the movement. Don turned his gaze upwards, and his breath blew through the spaces between Charlie's knuckles.

Charlie felt his cock start to thicken in his jeans. He took a deep breath and let it out again. Don licked his lips.

"You never go anywhere," he said.

"Hey…"

Charlie relaxed his spine, lowering himself onto the table. He scooted a little higher across the top and Don followed. A spark lit in Don's eyes, sultry and sullen, the kind of metallic sheen Charlie had seen in his brother's eyes when something—anything—shaved too close to Don's limits.

"You never do anything but math," he said, steamrolling over Charlie's voice. He put his knee between Charlie's legs. The old wood creaked under their weight. Charlie brought his hand up, resting it at the base of Don's neck and nudging his fingertips beneath the collar of Don's shirt.

"You even get _shot_ at on my watch and come out of it without a scratch, but the second I turn my back you're letting Larry set you on fire."

"I didn't _let_ Larry do anything but attempt a hypothesis. You know, the kind of thing I occasionally do at my work?"

Don bent his head closer, tilting his face until Charlie could only see the reddened curl of his ear and the short hairs beyond. A hissing breath hit the burn mark. His thumbnail bit into Charlie's scalp. Charlie's cock pushed at the zipper of his fly.

"On _fire_," Don muttered.

Charlie pushed his fingers upwards, cupping the swell of bone at the back of Don's head, and dug in with his fingernails. The sun beat down on his head from the open windows. Charlie squeezed his eyes shut, and pushed his mouth into the hollow behind Don's jaw.

He bit down lightly and kissed the bite. He wanted to go upstairs. They were in full view, wrapped around each other by the open windows, and Charlie's back ached as if a target had been stabbed into his back. His bedroom had drapes that closed and, more importantly, a door that locked. He massaged the base of Don's head, and Don's lips parted on a whisper.

"You…gotta be more careful, you know that? The next time it could be--worse than just a couple of inches of hair."

And the next time Don could take a bullet to the head, or the chest, or… Laughter, high and acidic, bubbled in Charlie's throat, but he forced it down and wriggled forward, wrapping his legs around Don's hips. Their cocks moved together, hot even through the layers of fabric. Charlie groaned, his mouth popping off Don's skin. Don shivered, rocking in place.

On the other hand, the kitchen was good enough.

Don's hands flew out to either side, catching his weight on the table. His shoulders flexed, head bent over Charlie's face. Charlie worked his fingers in between the short spikes of hair at Don's crown, rubbing into the skin. Don's hair felt like velvet, a thin layer of skin covering the hard bone. He brought his other hand up, cupping the sides of Don's head to bring him closer.

"On _fire_," Don said again.

He butted his head into Charlie's rubbing hands. The air thickened to a jelly, viscous and hot. He could feel the sun coming in from the kitchen windows, the warmth sinking hooks beneath his clothes, and turned his face towards Don's heat instead.

He mouthed his way down Don's neck and back up again. Don tasted like sweat and a bit of soap, a sharp taste that Charlie swallowed like water, drowning himself. He licked a path around a small, almost faded bruise at the base of Don's carotid, taking care to press over the mark until he owned it, and ground himself into Don.

Don's hand brushed Charlie's shoulder, fingers trailing over his t-shirt. Charlie's eyes slid half-closed. His head tilted.

"Does it hurt?" Don asked.

He touched his index finger to Charlie's skin just above the burn. Charlie swallowed, feeling Don's fingertip dip with the motion. His nail traced the scorched borders carefully, slowly, and Charlie's skin flared with heat.

"_Yes,_" he breathed.

Don's finger traced the circumference of Charlie's burn, waking the nerves until Charlie's hips began to undulate with each passing stroke. Dry lips pressed against his Adam's apple, pushing aside his wet hair.

"I can make you feel better," Don said, rearing back.

He stumbled away from the table and his tanned, broad hands opened Charlie's zipper. He lifted Charlie by the hips, pushing the waistband of Charlie's boxers and jeans down to his knees, then surging forward to mouth the inside of Charlie's thigh as his hands slid back up Charlie's legs. Charlie fell back against the table, arching his back and pressing his clothed shoulders to the hardwood. His bare heels slid around Don's back, rumpling Don's shirt. He whined, low in his throat.

Don sucked at Charlie's thigh, gripping Charlie's ass in both hands. He bit down sharply; laving the bite with his tongue, squeezing until it hurt just enough to make the jolt of lust tighten Charlie's muscles to breaking point. Charlie's blood rushed south, pooling in the bite and his cock, pulsing in tune with the swipe of Don's tongue. The old wooden table swayed, groaning beneath them.

"Want it," Don said, tearing his mouth from Charlie's skin. "Right here. Just like this."

He stared up at Charlie, face flushed, his lips swollen and red. Charlie nodded, gulping in air. He raised his hips, twisting his body closer to his brother's solid frame. His pants hung awkwardly from one foot, swinging heavily with each movement.

Slowly, Don lowered his mouth over Charlie's belly. His breath steamed over Charlie's skin. He traced a liquid path around Charlie's navel with his tongue, dipping inside and flicking at the soft edges with the tip while Charlie squirmed, panting at the ceiling. His cock bounced against Don's cheek, smearing a glossy path along the dark stubble.

Callused fingers reached out, stroking him, rubbing in small circles under the head until Charlie's eyes threatened to roll straight back into his skull, but he wanted to _see_. He had to see because this was _Don_\--this was him and Don, and Charlie reached out again, clenching and releasing his hands on the air until gravity forced him to grope at the edges of the table. Don kissed the tip of Charlie's cock, tonguing the slit, and Charlie's breath exploded from his lungs. He rose up to his elbows, unable to tear his eyes away from Don's bent head, the ruby wet gleam of his mouth, and the whirling sink of his gaze.

Charlie moaned, blood pounding in his head. Don felt like a fever, hot and pulsing in rhythm to the hammer jack of his heartbeat. The light from the windows illuminated every flexing muscle and reddening piece of flesh. He could _see_ Don kneeling before him, in full view of the doors, the windows, the entire damn house--_their_ house. He could see Don grinning up at him with wild eyes, pupils blown to the furthest edge. That mouth opened, a perfect circle, and slipped around the head of his cock. Charlie thrust up, couldn't help but thrust into the slick heat of Don's mouth, cock held tight between sucking lips and an eager tongue. Don lapped at him, holding him with his hands clamped to Charlie's hips. He swallowed, throat tightening, while Charlie's cock sunk _further_ inside, and swallowed again.

Don's hand rubbed up Charlie's hip, weighing down his heaving stomach. He scratched a welt parallel to the hair leading down Charlie's belly, and brought his hand back to stick his fingers inside his own mouth. His cheek bulged with the added digits. Charlie groaned. He bucked twice, gliding down Don's throat and came with a full body shake.

Charlie collapsed back onto the table, twitching through the aftermath while Don slid off his cock. He stood, spitting into his already wet hand, and draped himself across Charlie's chest. His skin rasped on Don's jeans.

Don kissed his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and finally his mouth, licking inside and pulling away in the same movement. His cock bulged beneath his jeans, hot against Charlie's thigh. He reached down and Don caught his hand, biting the base of his palm and then licking over the mark.

"You were so good, buddy," he said, laving between Charlie's knuckles. "So good. Turn over for me, okay?"

Charlie whimpered.

"Yeah…" he whispered, winding his free arm around Don's neck

Don put a hand around Charlie's hip and pulled up, holding them together. Charlie molded himself to Don's front, rubbing against the rough denim and soft cotton. Don shuddered, biting Charlie's earlobe, and bent him back over the table. Charlie's hands went to the opposite sides of the table, gripping the edges. He arched his back, pushing his ass into Don's groin.

His eyes fell closed at the first swipe of Don's fingers, wet with Charlie's come and Don's saliva. His thighs shook. Don circled his hole, teasing the opening with two fingers, dipping in with one, and then pulling out again until Charlie's spent cock was twitching between his legs, and his hands were scratching grooves into the already distressed wood.

Don thrust inward, sending the first finger in deep, and crooking the tip just _right_. Charlie keened, rocking into the intrusion, fighting the burn and sinking into it at the same time. Don leaned against him, holding Charlie's back to his chest and gnawing a hole in the fabric stretching across Charlie's shoulder. His cock branded the long muscle of Charlie's thigh.

One finger became two, became three, full and perfect, and Charlie's mouth fell open on a wail.

"Don, Don, Don, _please_, Don, I'm dying here. I'm dying, so good, _inside me_, now--"

Don flattened his free hand on the curve of Charlie's ass, pulling his fingers out. Charlie heard a zipper burst open, then the thunk of heavy fabric hitting the ground. Don shoved his forehead hard into rising arc of Charlie's spine, breathing in fits and starts, but his cock slid inside slowly, inexorably, until they were welded together.

Charlie reached behind himself, flattening his hand on Don's heaving side, yanking on the hem of Don's shirt and scratching at the skin beneath the fabric.

"_Move._"

Don's groan tore from his throat and burrowed beneath Charlie's skin. Don gripped Charlie by the hips, pulling him onto his cock like Charlie might run away if Don let him. Charlie's hands smacked the table, scrabbling for purchase, as Don pushed against his prostate. He thrust back; taking Don in deep, moaning while Don clutched at him, snapping his hips back and forth. Sparks flew before Charlie's closed eyes, a red haze of light from the open windows bursting across his eyelids like the sunrise.

He was hard again, unbelievably hard and shaking with it. His thighs stretched, aching from the cramped position and Don moved between them, rutting inside until the roaring in Charlie's head became Don's own voice, scraped raw and true.

"Don't do that," he said. "Don't do that. I can't—I can't anymore. Don't do that. Charlie. So _much._"

His voice shook when he broke off, and his hands spasmed. Charlie shook his head blindly.

"Won't," he said. "I won't. Just _fuck_ me, c'mon, c'mon."

Don bit down on his shoulder, rumbling voice cracking against his skin. His hands worked Charlie's cock, stroking the slick flesh and reaching down to roll his balls. His hand slid backwards and behind. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh and electricity ripped through Charlie's body. He writhed, thumping his chin on the table, and burning liquid splattered against his legs.

Don's thrusts grew erratic. He fell forward, plowing inside and the heat pouring from his body melted them together, sealed them into one bucking creature, groaning and grappling together as Don came, searing Charlie's insides as he charred his skin.

They slumped forward together. A bird flew past the window, settling into the nearby tree, and rattling the branches. Don's arms thumped alongside Charlie's. His hands fumbled for Charlie's wrists, wrapping around them before sliding down and lifting up. Don stood away, pulling out, and Charlie moaned. He stayed where he was, trying to remember how to detach his fingers from the table and then gave up when Don did it for him, stroking the backs of his hands with rough fingers until they peeled off from the wood and turned over.

He slid off the table, standing and stumbling back a step. Don caught him, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing the side of his neck without the burn. He stroked Charlie's hip and they stood there, half-naked in the kitchen in front of the open windows. Don's leg slipped between Charlie's, tilting his balance so that Charlie rested part of his weight on Don's chest.

"We need to clean up," Don said.

Charlie nodded. "And a shower," he mumbled. "It's hot."

"Yeah."

Don dipped his head. He looked out over the kitchen with a forensic eye, already covering up the evidence. Charlie pressed backwards. He turned his head and lipped the point of Don's chin.

"Golf," he reminded, and Don flinched.

"He's at golf," Charlie said louder.

Don nodded. His fingernails dug into Charlie's hipbone, reluctantly letting go.

"Do you feel better?" he asked quietly.

Charlie bit his lip, feeling a small split begin to bleed. He angled his head for a kiss.

"Take me to bed and find out," he said.

 

End.


End file.
